The Pros and Cons of Sofas
by Kink Fluff Angst
Summary: ."Yes, over my sofa, Lisbon!" Patrick Jane/Sofa


**A/N: Hi, everybody. This is a Jane/Sofa fic. I started it off as kind of srs buisness, but then I asked my friend Dee for help, and it all went downhill from there. XDD I hope you guys like it, review, please, maybe?**

**Also, when there's a break, its a different time. These don't just happen one after each other. Also, forgive all my errors. Spoilers? Well, sure, for His Right Red Hand, season 2. T for language. I don't own anything except, for, perhaps Patrick/Sofa. It's like my OTP. And its canon! xD Okay, I'll shut it now..**

The sofa had been there before him.

It was good quality brown leather, and large enough for a grown man to lie completely down on it. The cushions were comfortable and squishy.

But no one really used it before he came aboard.

Sure, it was a good place to take a break and close one's eyes, but who wanted to look like a slacker?

Patrick Jane was okay with looking like a slacker.

He had slept in his car a lot before the job, avoiding his house like the plague. He could never fall asleep right in that horrible room. It would make sense that he was always tired.

Patrick Jane remembered when he first set his blue eyes on that sofa.

"Perfect," he had muttered, grinning. He laid himself out, arms behind his head, and closed his eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"My dear Lisbon, it is not what I am doing, but what I am _not _doing." He didn't even open his eyes.

"You're going to have to do some _work_ around here!" she had said. "You can't just come in and nap!"

He sighed irritably, and sat up, staring down Lisbon who easily matched his gaze.

"Fine."

* * *

He remembered the first case he closed, him looking to its glossy leather for comfort. He collapsed on it, more exhausted than usual.

"You're not going home?"

Could the poor man ever get a spot of sleep?

"No," he answered matter-of-factly.

"Oh." She lingered for a moment, wanting to say more. But she didn't. She left, leaving him to his nightmares.

* * *

Lisbon sometimes worried about the relationship her colleague had with that sofa. He didn't like sharing, always getting up reluctantly to let someone else sit. He was usually splayed across the leather, anyway, no room for any one else.

She walked in on him one day.

He was upside down, head resting on the floor, the rest of his body on its upholstery, his eyes closed.

"Jane!"

"Lisbon, why do you always ruin my fun…."

* * *

He had eaten a matter of sorts while reclining on the sofa; donuts, pizza, Pad Thai, empanadas, bagels, anything he could find. It was his favorite tea-drinking spot, his thinking-chair. He could find it with his eyes closed, as was the case when he was temporarily blind.

He had been slightly outraged when someone tried to buy throw pillows for it.

"Absolutely not!" He almost dropped his coffee. "What is this horrible disgrace? What excuse of a human did this to my sofa?!" He folded his arms, surveying his team, minus Lisbon, who was hiding in her office.

"It's not that big of a deal--"

"So it _was_ you, Van Pelt!"

"No, Jane, it wasn't---"

Frowning, Jane had moved all the brightly colored, fringed pillows into a stack and placed them on the floor. "They don't even match!"

The next day, the pillows had mysteriously disappeared.

* * *

It was another time, where everyone has appeared to have gone home. Van Pelt and Rigsby were gathering their stuff when Jane left them.

When Jane returned, the couple were becoming…. intimate.

On the sofa.

On _his _sofa.

"You filthy imbeciles - I have... never have I _ever_! Never have I ever witnessed such a potential _tainting_ of my home. Get out. GET OUT, INFIDELS."

He glared at the two down as they gathered them selves and stumbled out of the office. Safe in the elevator, Van Pelt turned to Rigsby. "…Infidels?"

* * *

He remembered the first time he found Lisbon perched, sharing in its comfort. It was after Bosco… passed. The entire atmosphere had changed completely.

"Oh--I--"

"No, its quite alright," he said gently. "You need it more than I do."

The first time Patrick Jane every willingly shared his sofa. First, and probably last.

* * *

Van Pelt had just been trying to make a point. Using her hands, throwing them up, twirling-- When Jane had walked up right behind her, tired, not noticing.

The tea cup flew out his grasp, bouncing on the leather, spilling everywhere.

There was silence.

Van Pelt looked aghast. "Jane! I--I--" She looked for a napkin, hurrying to clean it up before the liquid sank in.

It still stained, despite her best efforts.

* * *

Rigsby was once eating a Closed Case Donut, taking a seat on the sofa, ignoring the look Jane shot him. It was only until later, he realized--

"Uh, where's my phone?"

Cho glanced up. "I'll call it." Pause. "Ringing."

The abrasive sound of a phone vibrating filled the air. It seemed to be emitting from the sofa itself.

Quickly, while Jane had gone off, Cho and Rigsby started feeling through the cracks. When that didn't work, they completely removed all of the cushions.

"Where could it have gone?" Rigsby inquired, frowning. He held up one of the large brown cushions.

An icy voice broke the air.

"You have five seconds to move away from the sofa, slowly, and no one will get-- DROP THE CUSHION, RIGSBY."

Jane swiftly picked up the gun that lay on the nearby desk, pointing it at Rigsby, who stood frozen, holding the cushion like a shield.

It was at that moment Teresa Lisbon returned from her lunch break to encounter such an odd scene, she didn't know what to think.

Her hand flew to her hip.

"Drop the gun, Jane!"

Was her consultant having a breakdown? Had his mind finally shattered?

"Oh, relax, Lisbon," he answered, roughly. "Its not loaded." He placed it back on the desk as Rigsby put down the cushion. "I was just making a point." He hurried himself by fixing his precious sofa.

Rigsby picked up his gun, frowning. He looked up at Lisbon. It was loaded.

* * *

"Alright, I killed him!" the woman stood up quickly from the sofa, tearily glaring down the CBI. Jane calmly sipped his tea.

"Why?" he asked.

"He was a _bastard_!"

"But why kill his wife? She was innocent."

"Innocent! The slut was a bitch!"

"Ms. White," Lisbon said, unflustered. "You are under arrest."

As she led Ms. White away, Lisbon shot Jane a look. He grinned and shrugged.

The magic of the Sofa.

* * *

"Jane, get your ass off the couch--"

"Lisbon, this is not a couch, nor will it ever be a couch."

"They're the same thing--"

"THIS IS NOT A COUCH, LISBON. I'D APPRECIATE IT GREATLY IF YOU WOULD GET YOUR TERMS RIGHT."

"_Why _are you yelling?"

"WHY CAN YOU NOT COMPREHEND THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A SOFA AND A COUCH?"

"Because there isn't any?"

Silence.

* * *

"Jane!"

Her voice was sharp. It was always sharp, thick with authority. She was using her no-nonsense voice, but Jane hardly took notice.

"Jane, if you mess this up--I'll--"

"You'll what, Lisbon? Please, I'd like to hear your threat." His voice was rich with sarcasm.

"Jane, I swear to God, if you do anything to endanger this case, the team, or yourself I will _get rid of your sofa. _If you even piss me off, say goodbye to your sofa."

Jane froze. "You wouldn't," he answered coldly.

"Try me," she dared.

Jane opened the office door, slamming it as he left.

* * *

"Lisbon? Lisbon, this is important."

Jane's voice was urgent. It was feigned, of course, but Lisbon didn't know that. She rushed to him where he lay sprawled on the sofa.

"Jane? What is it?"

"Can… Can I have a bagel? A blueberry, if there is?"

"Patrick Fucking Jane."

"Teresa Lisbon."

"You make he drop _everything _so you can ask for a _fucking bagel_? This is the last goddamn straw, Jane."

"Language, Lisbon," Jane warned.

Seething, Lisbon whipped out her cellphone, dialing a number quickly. "Hi, is this Bob's Movers?"

Jane's eye shot open.

"Hi, this is Teresa Lisbon, CBI? I have a sofa that needs to be moved, CBI headquarters. Today, maybe? Yeah. Yeah, that's great. Thanks, see you then."

Jane looked at Lisbon in horror. "No…"

Lisbon smirked smugly. "Better get up, Jane, they're coming soon."

"No, Lisbon, I will _not _get off! You can't, Lisbon, after all I've done, after all the cases I've closed--!"

"Yes, Jane, after all the stress you cause me, after all the incidents, your crazy methods, and mountains of paperwork! I warned you, Jane, a warning you did not heed."

"I didn't _hurt_ you, I wanted a bagel--"

"That's not the point!"

They glared at each other.

Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt gaped at that scene, not really believing what was going on.

"Lisbon," Jane's voice suddenly got very quiet. "Lisbon, if you remove this sofa, you can count on me never showing up here again."

Silence.

Lisbon stared. "You can't be--"

"--I am very serious, Lisbon."

"Over a sofa?"

"Over _my _sofa, Lisbon!" He was shouting now, sitting straight up, but not rising.

There was more staring. Jane wasn't letting up. He moved to unclip his ID badge when Lisbon let out a breath. She dialed Bob's.

"This is Teresa Lisbon, CBI, again. I wont be needing any movers, sorry for the inconvenience." She shut her phone. "Happy, now, Jane?"

"No, Lisbon, I still don't have my bagel."

With murder in her eyes, Lisbon grabbed the white paper bag and began pelting the consultant with the circular dough balls.

"Okay! _Okay_, I'm sorry!"

When Lisbon ran out of ammo, she calmed slightly.

"Thank you, Lisbon." Jane picked up a blueberry bagel, biting into its bready, fruity goodness.

"…Patrick Fucking Jane…"


End file.
